Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The autumn air turned to an unexpected winter freeze the second week of December. The scent of snow was thick in the air, but the ground was still too warm for any flurries to stick.
The house, Faith was told, would be finished by the first of the year. Even now, they were working on purely aesthetic aspects rather than structural changes. It was everything she’d ever wanted—her Victorian masterpiece rising from the ashes of neglect like a phoenix.
What wasn’t everything she’d wanted was the careful distance Jake had been maintaining since her breakdown in the kitchen three weeks ago.
Faith stood in her new office in the west wing tower, staring out the octagonal windows at the construction crews below.
The room was complete—soft blues and creams contrasted with dark cherrywood furniture and scattered Persian rugs on the newly refinished hardwood floors.
Paintings they’d chosen together at a gallery downtown were splashes of color on the pale walls, back when Jake still touched her hand while they debated the merits of impressionism versus realism.
Now he treated her like spun glass.
She’d noticed it immediately after she’d told him about Steve.
The way he’d pull back just before their fingers touched when passing her coffee.
How he’d kiss her forehead instead of her lips, as if anything more passionate might shatter her.
The careful way he asked if she was “all right” when she grew quiet, as though he expected her to crumble at any moment.
When she’d asked why he’d never tried to make love to her he’d told her that he respected her too much.
How could he kiss her like she was oxygen one moment, and then put her on the shelf another?
“I’m not broken,” she whispered to the empty room, but apparently Jake didn’t believe that.
They still saw each other daily—he was finishing the house, after all.
They shared meals that Gretchen prepared, took walks through the neighborhood to admire other restorations, attended Ruth’s friend’s art gallery opening where Jake had been charming and attentive and hadn’t once pulled her close during the slow dancing.
Jake stood exactly three feet away—close enough to be polite, far enough to avoid accidental contact. Faith found herself counting the careful distance between them, hyperaware of how they both seemed to be holding their breath.
Faith had tried to bring it up once, asking if something was wrong, but Jake had given her that patient, understanding smile and assured her everything was fine.
That he just wanted to “take things slow” and “make sure she was comfortable.” As if she were a trauma victim instead of a woman who’d fought her way back from hell and built a successful life.
She understood his intentions were good. Sweet, even. But she missed the man who’d challenged her, who’d looked at her with desire instead of pity, who’d kissed her like she was a woman worth wanting instead of a fragile bird with broken wings.
A sharp knock on her office door interrupted her brooding.
“Come in,” she called, expecting to see Jake with an update on the crown molding.
Instead, the door burst open with enough force to rattle the windows, and a whirlwind of red wool scarves and indignation swept into the room.
“Goodness gracious, it’s cold enough to freeze the brass buttons off a sailor’s coat out there!
” Ruth Murphy announced, unwinding what appeared to be several yards of scarf from around her head.
“I swear, last year I had the air-conditioning on at Christmas. Mother Nature’s having herself a crisis, mark my words. ”
“Ruth!” Faith jumped up, genuinely delighted. “What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your friend in?—”
“Boring as watching paint dry,” Ruth interrupted, shaking snow from her elegant coat. “Lorena’s gotten old, Faith. All she wants to talk about is burial plots and the outrageous cost of dying. Depressing as a funeral parlor. Besides, I had a dream last night that told me I was needed here.”
Faith had learned not to question Ruth’s dreams. The woman’s intuition was unnaturally accurate.
“Jake!” Ruth hollered toward the hallway. “Get those bags in here so I can show Faith her present!”
“You brought me a present?” Faith asked, touched by the thoughtfulness.
Heavy footsteps echoed up the tower stairs, followed by Jake’s voice, slightly winded. “What have you got in these bags, Gran? You weren’t gone long enough to shop this much.”
He appeared in the doorway, arms loaded with shopping bags, looking like a pack mule. When his eyes met Faith’s, she caught that now-familiar flash of heat quickly banked, replaced by careful friendliness.
“It’s payback for shipping me off when all the excitement was happening here,” Ruth declared, settling into Faith’s reading chair like a queen claiming her throne.
“Don’t think I didn’t realize what you were up to, young man.
I didn’t even get to see the explosion damage up close before you had me carted away like yesterday’s newspaper. ”
Jake set the bags on Faith’s desk, and she was acutely aware of how he avoided even accidental contact when their hands might have brushed. The careful distance felt like a physical ache.
“How did you get back here, anyway?” Faith asked, needing to focus on something besides Jake’s deliberate avoidance.
“Greyhound bus,” Ruth said proudly. “Edward was livid. But I met the most interesting people. Including two young ladies at the Dallas station who were clearly new to their profession—they didn’t seem to know very much about the finer points of their trade, so I gave them some pointers.”
“You gave prostitutes advice?” Faith’s voice squeaked.
“Someone had to. They were going about it all wrong.” Ruth waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I found poor Edward standing on my friend’s porch with my luggage, wondering where I’d disappeared to. The man worries too much.”
Jake had moved to the window, ostensibly checking the crew’s progress, but Faith could see the tension in his shoulders. Even Ruth’s outrageous stories weren’t drawing his usual laughter.
“I’ve decided to move in here through Christmas,” Ruth announced. “This place has much better energy than Jake’s sterile glass box, and frankly, I’m bored to tears rattling around in that enormous house with just Edward for company.”
“You want to stay here?” Faith asked, surprised but pleased.
“Absolutely. This house has character, history, stories in its bones. Jake’s place looks like something out of a design magazine—beautiful but soulless.
Besides—” Ruth’s eyes twinkled with mischief, “—I have a feeling this is where all the interesting things will happen between now and the New Year.”
Jake cleared his throat from the window. “Gran, you can’t just invite yourself?—”
“Of course I can. I’m ninety years old, which gives me license to do whatever I please.” Ruth settled back in her chair with satisfaction. “Besides, Faith needs a proper chaperone if you’re going to be spending so much time here finishing the house.”
Faith caught the slight stiffening in Jake’s posture at the word chaperone, though she wasn’t sure why the suggestion would bother him.
“Now open your present,” Ruth commanded, shifting gears with her typical lightning speed as she pushed a wrapped package toward Faith.
Faith unwrapped the tissue paper, expecting something outrageous—Ruth’s gifts usually were. Instead, she gasped in genuine surprise. The bowl was exquisite—pale blue crystal etched with gold-leafed dancing figures, delicate and beautiful and completely impractical.
“Ruth, it’s gorgeous,” Faith breathed, tracing the intricate pattern with one finger. “But this must have cost a fortune?—”
“Posh. Money’s for spending, not hoarding.” Ruth beamed with pleasure. “I thought it would look perfect in here. A little beauty for a beautiful woman who deserves to be treated as such.”
The pointed look she shot Jake could have melted steel.
Faith set the bowl carefully on her desk, throat tight with emotion. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Good. Now, those other bags are mine—found the most divine little lingerie shop while I was away. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they make these days. Poor Lorena nearly fell out of her wheelchair when I showed her my purchases.”
After they left, Faith sank into her chair, staring at the beautiful crystal bowl.
Ruth was right about the sexual tension—it was driving her slowly insane.
She understood Jake’s caution, truly she did.
Learning about her marriage to Steve had obviously affected him more than he’d let on.
But his kid-glove treatment was making her feel like damaged goods all over again.
Something had to give. Because if Jake Murphy thought he could love her by smothering her and treating her like an invalid, he was about to learn that Faith Hartwell wasn’t nearly as fragile as he seemed to think. Maybe she just needed to seduce him.
* * *
Later that evening, Faith was reviewing her radio notes when she heard soft voices from the guest wing. Curious, she crept closer and found Ruth and Edward in the sitting room, a chessboard between them.
“You’re letting me win again,” Ruth accused, moving her queen with theatrical flair.
“I would never presume to let you do anything,” Edward replied with formal gravity, but Faith caught the warmth in his voice. “You’ve been outmaneuvering me at chess for thirty-seven years.”
“Thirty-eight,” Ruth corrected. “And I seem to recall you letting me win that very first game.”
Edward’s usually reserved face cracked into a rare smile. “Perhaps I was simply establishing a precedent for our relationship.”
Faith retreated quietly, struck by the easy intimacy between them—the kind that came from decades of shared jokes, comfortable silences, and choosing each other every single day.